


Take One Down, Pass It Around

by zinke



Category: Castle
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, Flirting, Gift Fic, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Then again,’ he muses aloud as he reaches for a bottle of Grey Goose and pours a finger into her glass, ‘maybe this is just the opportunity I’ve been waiting for: another drink and you could be telling me all your deepest, darkest and – dare I hope – sultriest secrets.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take One Down, Pass It Around

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been written for sillyg, winner of the tiaras4tatas fanworks auction wherein I offered fic in exchange for donations to the Susan G. Komen Foundation. She gracious gave me several prompts to choose from, and ultimately the muse chose these to work from: 1) _Castle finds out just how much his books meant to Beckett after her mom's death_ ; and 2) _Drunk!Castle/Beckett fic...perhaps at the Old Haunt_.
> 
> As always, many thanks to the delightful gabolange for the suggestions and advice.

By the time Castle works up the nerve to ask Beckett how she’s doing, it’s well past closing time at the Old Haunt and everyone else has gone home. He’s been worried about her for days. The case they’ve been working is a bad one, even by his gruesomely imaginative standards, and it’s taken a toll on all of them. The fact that Beckett is still here, listlessly stirring what Castle makes to be her fourth vodka cranberry, only serves to reinforce his concerns.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pouring himself another scotch.

“I always am.”

Maybe it’s because he’s grown tired of being pushed away. More likely, it’s because he’s had almost as much to drink as she has and the Glenfiddich has addled his sense of self-preservation. Whatever the reason, Castle isn’t willing to let her off the hook that easily. “No, you aren’t.”

“Castle—”

“You aren’t,” he insists quietly.

“Maybe not,” Beckett concedes after a long pause. She stares down into her glass for a second or two then raises it to her lips, finishing the drink in one deep swallow. “But I will be.”

There’s something about her uncharacteristic confession that Castle finds distinctly unnerving. He’s not used to seeing her so defeated, and he immediately resolves to rectify the situation the only way he knows how.

“That’s it,” he proclaims, making a deliberate show of reaching for her glass, “I’m cutting you off.”

Beckett quickly pulls the tumbler out of his reach. “You’re what now?”

“Then again,” he muses aloud as he reaches for a bottle of Grey Goose and pours a finger into her glass, “maybe this is just the opportunity I’ve been waiting for: another drink and you could be telling me all your deepest, darkest and – dare I hope – sultriest secrets.”

Beckett chuckles and waves off the bottle of cranberry juice. “How do you do that?” she asks, raising the glass to her lips.

“Do what?”

“Always know exactly the right thing to say.”

“Flattery, Beckett? How singularly unlike you.”

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

Though she’s still smiling, Castle can see that Beckett’s heart really isn’t in it. Castle considers her a few seconds longer before venturing softly, “You know, if you want to talk about it—”

“No,” she says with a curt shake of her head. “We’ve done nothing but talk about the Fielding case for the past five days. You want to talk, Castle? Fine. But not about that.”

“Okay; so…what should we talk about?”

Beckett mulls the question over, then gives Castle a sly smile. “You,” she proclaims, swallowing down the rest of her drink and setting the empty glass on the bar with a decisive thunk.

“Me?”

“You’re always digging around in my personal life. It’s high time you let me do a little digging in yours.”

Even under the influence, Castle can’t quite bring himself to admit that Beckett has a point. Instead, he makes a show of knocking back his own drink before leaning across the bar to look her squarely in the eye. “All right, Detective; you can ask your questions. But only if I get to ask you one in return.”

“Deal,” she murmurs, her lips quirking slightly as she pulls away. “But first you need to pour another round. And I get to go first.”

Grinning, Castle picks up the bottle of vodka and spreads his arms wide. “Fire away.”

Cocking her head, Beckett purses her lips and gives Castle a lingering once over. “Boxers or briefs?”

“Really? That’s the best you can come up with?” he asks, pouring her another generous helping of Grey Goose. “Its option ‘A’, by the way.”

“Not by a long shot. Your first time?”

“What? Hey! It’s my turn!”

“No,” she drawls, “you asked a question; I answered it. Which means it’s _my_ turn.”

“Diabolical,” Castle proclaims, helping himself to another splash of Glenfiddich. “Also dirty. I like it.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Jennifer Dormer. I was fourteen, she was sixteen. Which sounds a lot cooler and less humiliating than it actually was. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say these questions of yours were leading somewhere.”

Castle could swear he sees a hint of a blush on her cheeks even as Beckett shoots him one of her patented exasperated looks. “Your turn, Castle.”

He takes his time, rolling his glass back and forth between his palms as he contemplates his options. “Why Derrick Storm?”

“Why Derrick Storm what?”

“Why is he your favorite character?”

Beckett sits up a little straighter in her seat, her expression unreadable. “Who says he is?”

“Ryan and Esposito.” Castle props his chin in his hand and cocks his head. “So spill.”

The alcohol has made Castle a little bit slow on the uptake, but he can see from the way Beckett’s staring at him that he’s inadvertently touched a nerve. But before he can take the question back, Beckett explains, “Because Derrick Storm never stopped. He kept digging, kept fighting until he got to the truth.” Looking down, she brushes her fingers across the face of her father’s watch. “He was everything the cops who handled my mother’s case weren’t.”

Castle stares at her, an unexpected wave of remorse washing over him as memories of each and every time he’s teased her for being a fan run through his mind.

Beckett frowns. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve done something wrong.”

“It’s just… I had no idea.”

“Yeah well, now you do.” Beckett shifts on her seat and takes a less-than-subtle glance at her watch. “It’s late; I should get home.”

Castle hurriedly places their empty glasses in the sink. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I’m perfectly capable of hailing myself a cab, Castle.”

Ignoring the glare she’s giving him, Castle comes around the bar and slips Beckett’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “Humor me.”

“Don’t I always?” she grumbles, even as she settles herself a little more snugly against his side.

Together they make their way outside. Castle has already turned his attention up the block in search of an available cab when he feels a gentle tug on his arm.”You have one more question.”

“I do?”

Beckett nods. “I asked you who spilled the beans about Derrick Storm. Which means I got to ask one more question than you.”

It takes Castle a second or two to fumble through the math. “That wasn’t an _actual_ question,” he protests. Off her reproving look he adds, “Yes, you’re right. It was in fact _a_ question. But it wasn’t…You know what I mean.”

Beckett shakes her head and gives him a coy smile. “Diabolical or not, fair’s fair, Castle. It’s your turn. Better make it a good one.”

With effort, Castle tears his gaze away from her lips and clears his throat. Stepping forward, he takes her hand in his and brings it to rest against his chest as they gaze at one another. “Are you _sure_ it wasn’t Storm’s ruggedly good looks that won you over?” he finally asks, adopting a brazenly self-satisfied expression.

Beckett barks out a laugh and, pulling her hand from his, smacks him soundly on the arm. “Jackass.”

“So…that’s a yes?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be hailing me a cab?” she retorts, narrowing her eyes at him.

Grinning unapologetically, Castle steps to the curb and raises his hand. “Not to worry,” he says as a taxi slips across the avenue and comes to a stop in front of them. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Opening the car door, Castle extends a hand to help Beckett inside. As her fingers close over his, she leans in to brush her lips across his cheek. “Thank you,” she breathes, then ducks into the vehicle.

Smiling, Castle watches until the cab turns the corner onto Park Avenue South, then heads for home.

 

*fin.*


End file.
